


Pops and Baby Girl

by redheadgirl



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Flashback, Gen, father daughter bonding, re-worked fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11156709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgirl/pseuds/redheadgirl
Summary: A flashback from Ginny's childhood.





	Pops and Baby Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ginny tells it like it is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9850547) by [redheadgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgirl/pseuds/redheadgirl). 



> This was inspired by my recent trip to watch the San Antonio Missions with my daughter. The Missions are the AA affiliate of the San Diego Padres, and are the team Ginny was playing for when she met Amelia.
> 
> This was previously published as a chapter in another story of mine. After receiving excellent advice from much more experienced writers than I, I'm re-posting two chapters as stand alones so they don't interfere with the flow of the full story. Hopefully you don't hate the idea of re-reading it.

“Why won’t they throw me a ball Pops?” Her voice was quiet but carried the threat of tears.

Her father looked down at his daughter and took in her quivering lower lip. “I’m not sure, baby girl.” She looked up at him and sure enough, tears pooled in her eyes. “Are you crying?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head.

“Are you crying? Are you… You are crying! There’s no crying in baseball,” he said, nudging her shoulder. 

That brought a smile to her face. “Why don’t you give her a break, Jimmy?”

“Roger Hornsby was my manager and he called me a talking pile of pig..” he stopped to clear his throat, refusing to swear in front of his eight year old daughter. “And did I cry? No! And you know why?”

“Because there’s no crying in baseball,” Ginny responded with a head nod.

“That’s right! There’s no crying in baseball,” he affirmed in his best Jimmy Duggan voice.

The crack of a ball hitting the bat drew their attention back to the game. They watched as the Durham Bull’s centerfielder sprinted to stretch a double into a triple. When the cheers died down and the next batter stepped into the batter’s box his daughter leaned over to him and whispered, “Did anyone tell you, you look like a penis with that little hat on?”

Bill choked out a laugh. His baby girl was always surprising him. “Don’t ever let your mother hear you say that. She’ll know where it came from.”

Ginny smiled up at him. “From League of Their Own,” she teased, knowing that’s not what he meant.

Bill smiled down at her. “I might blame Tom Hanks, but your mama will know it was me that let you watch it,” he said with a wink.

Ginny settled back into her seat and they watched the rest of the inning in silence. The Bull's second baseman hit a lazy pop fly to the shortstop for the third out. As the team trotted back to the dugout, the shortstop’s eyes already scanning the crowd behind the dugout for someone to toss the ball to. Bill watched Ginny straighten and bounce in her seat, giving a little wave to try and catch the player’s eyes. His heart sunk as once again the player’s eyes slid right over his daughter, and he lobbed to a middle aged man and his son about ten rows behind them.

Her shoulders slumped and she looked down at her feet for a minute. She looked up and met his eyes. Hers carried a knowledge much older than what an eight year old should have. “It’s because I’m a girl, isn’t it Pop?”

Bill met her eyes. “Probably, baby girl. Although if we stood up and acted a fool, screaming and jumping and waving our arms like those people, we might stand a chance at it.”

“Maybe if I do that they’ll give me a ball,” she asked hesitantly.

Bill turned fully in his seat and gripped her shoulders in his big, callused hands. “Listen carefully, Ginny. No one will give you anything in baseball. You’re going to have to fight every single day. Instead of waiting for someone to give it to you, you need to work hard and take it for yourself. Don’t rely on anyone to do the right thing, it’s up to you to make it happen.”

Ginny’s big eyes met his as she nodded. “Yes Pop. I’ll make it happen.”

He gave a squeeze to her shoulders before releasing her and turning back to the field. “That’s my girl.”

 

They spent the summer visiting every ball park in North Carolina, from the Rookie League Burlington Royals to the triple A Durham Bulls, and all the teams in the Caroline League. Their pilgrimage was full of lessons in baseball strategy, watching pitcher mechanics, and learning both the written and unwritten rules of baseball.

The last game of their summer was at the Charlotte Knights. During the eighth inning, the Knights’ catcher hit a towering pop fly towards the dugout. When Bill realized it was going to go foul he pulled Ginny to her feet. “Here’s your chance baby girl,” he told her. Instead of pushing her out of the way to catch the ball, he leaned around her and shoved all the grown-ass men away from where they were leaning and shoving his daughter for their chance at a foul ball. The stadium quieted when they realized a little girl was directly under the ball and no adult was there to protect her.

Bill watched with pride as Ginny calmly waited with her eyes on the ball, ignoring the sudden shouts from the field as the players warned her to duck. Instead, she calmly reached up and barehanded the ball. Her technique was perfect, exactly like he taught her. She kept her hands cupped and cradled the ball like an egg, minimizing the risk of injury that would likely occur if she snapped at the ball in the motion used when playing with a mitt.

The place exploded, all of the fans clapping and shouting like they had just won the World Series. Players came out of their dugout to stare in shock at the little girl calmly sitting in her seat, smiling at her ball.

“Way to go, kid,” one of them called out. He stretched as far as he could across the dugout roof, holding out his hand for a high five. Ginny looked up at her dad for permission and after receiving his nod, she leaned her entire body across the dugout to slap her hand against the player’s. Several of the other players reached out for high fives too, and Ginny complied with a laugh. A replay of the catch showed on the big screen and the players cheered as loud as the fans. The catcher caught her eye and tipped his cap to her.

Ginny looked up at her dad with the biggest smile he had ever seen on her face. “We did it, Pop!”

He ruffled her hair. “We ain’t done nothing yet, Baby Girl,” he said with a smile, his voice full of pride.

Ginny giggled up at her father. “You always say that. Just you wait. I’m going to be the best baseball player ever!”

Bill turned his eyes back to the field. “You just might, Baby Girl. You just might.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've noticed that no matter what ballpark we go to and what team with watch, the players always throw to the little boys and their obnoxiously loud middle age fathers. I had a very similar conversation with my daughter when she was 8. So, I've caught several foul balls for her. It's childish to admit, but I find a bit of smug satisfaction in the reaction of the fans when they watch a woman snag a foul ball with one bare hand while the other is holding on to her scorebook.


End file.
